


Lemon and Seltzer

by Tukkee



Series: At the Bottom of a Bottle of Tavum [2]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Backstory, Canon Continuation, Character Development, Character Study, First Kiss, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, I'm Bad At Tagging, Laundry, Love Confessions, M/M, Painkillers, Romance, Surgery, Walking Canes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-01 09:19:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13995207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tukkee/pseuds/Tukkee
Summary: With his life in danger, Jaal acts quick to save Scott. But when Scott begins to feel guilty for forcing the Angaran to forfeit something he holds dear, the two realize some things are more worthy of preservation.





	Lemon and Seltzer

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 of my "At the Bottom of a Bottle of Tavum" series. This one is MUCH longer than the last, I apologize. Unless you're into reading lengthy one-shots, you naughties. There's no explicit sex in this, just something I figured would be a likely reason for my two boys to get together in the canonical universe. 
> 
> I understand that nearly EVERYONE has a different "Ryder" twin, myself included, so I'm tiring to make an effort to NOT explicitly describe the physical appearance of Ryder in my work. I feel that you can self insert your own Ryder into it and still be pleased. I only picked the name "Scott" because it's the official name, and it's the popular tag because fuck you I want the hits. 
> 
> Anyways, please give kudos and comment whether you liked or disliked it! And let me know if I missed a typo/error in it! Thanks for reading!
> 
> \-- -- --

“Move! Move! Move!” Cora blasted, wailing her arms over her soon to be depleted biotic shield. Her arms shook with exhaustion and her rapidly firing pistol threatened to overheat from the sheer amount of discharges it made within the last five minutes.

Jaal meanwhile was carrying, or more appropriately dragging, Scott back to the transport vessel perched cliffside on Ryder-1. Scott lagged behind, covering his bleeding and exposed leg with a pressure comparable to a hydraulic press. His gasps and winces while being lunged across the rocky surface led to frequent slips of his hand, and increasingly aggressive beeps from his frayed suit.

“We are almost there, Ryder,” Jaal growled, emptying his clip over his shoulder blindly, hoping to nab a few kills and more time for their escape.

“Just keep going, don’t look back,” Ryder breathed laboriously, reapplying his gloved hand firmly on his thigh.

“One hundred meters until we have reached the ship,” SAM said in a juxtaposing calm to the chaos around them. “Shall I prepare the ship for immediate departure, Pathfinder?”

“What the fuck do you think?!” Scott snarled, matching Jaal’s steps and hopping alongside the best he could with one working leg.

Far behind, Cora kept growing shields and blasting them outwards, pushing back the swarming Kett on their tail. With each pulse, she’d shoot off the ground with her jetpack and recover some ground just behind Jaal and Ryder. It wasn’t protocol or even a good exit strategy, but as the Initiative and especially the crew of the Tempest have learned in Helius, nothing mattered in terms of preparedness.

“Ryder, you need to help me out,” Jaal grunted through his intercom, crackling into Ryder’s ear rather clearly through the reverberating sounds of gunshots. “Grab my waist.”

Scott didn’t need to be told twice. His knees rocketed up and his free hand latched onto the Angaran’s muscular waist, gripping onto a free loop on his suit and hoisting himself up. Jaal returned the gesture and slipped a hand around the smaller human’s own waist, tugging at the man’s belt to keep him steady.

“Keep going! I see more on the way to flank us!” Cora shouted, sniping two Kett perched high above the canyon.

“Nice shot!” Jaal said with a hearty laugh, the intentional switch in character not being lost on Ryder. No matter how dire, Ryder could count on Jaal to find some joy in an overwhelmingly critical situation.

“Suit at thirty percent survivability, Ryder,” SAM chimed in to inform.

“What the fuck does that even mean?!” Scott spat, feeling the pressure of his wound and the lightheadedness from either the blood loss or toxic atmosphere leaking in through the tear on his leg.

“I could explain, but that could distract you from the present situation,” SAM expanded, still eerily placid.

“Then why the hell are we having this conversation?!” Ryder snapped back, turning around to weakly gun down an encroaching Chosen.

“At this present pace, you will make it to the ship before the suit loses full integrity,” SAM said. “For your information.”

“Well that’s certainly a goddamn relief,” Ryder rolled his eyes, earning a chortle from the eavesdropping Angaran hugging his frame.

“Kinda ruins the surprise, huh?” Cora joked, landing in front of the two men and dispatching another biotic shield.

“Don’t,” Ryder pointed angrily.

“Fifty meters until arrival,” SAM briefed, drawing the attention of all three forward as their small ship came into view. The back burners had turned on, shining a bright and hot blue that refracted the green and grey around them. The door slid open invitingly and the three mobbed the shuttle with renewed urgency.

Cora was the first to arrive, turning back momentarily to ensure that Jaal and the downed Ryder were right behind her before sliding into the pilot’s seat and retracting the landing pads. The ship screamed to life and hovered over the windy ground, flakes of grass and stone flying every which way in a puff of eager dust and smoke.

When the two men reached the ship, Jaal spent no time hesitating and simply hurled the injured Pathfinder into the cabin. He banged around inside and landed face first onto the metal floor, inadvertently dodging several bullets intended for him that left glowing holes on the inside of the ship. Scott could have sworn he heard a small apology as Jaal hopped in and readied a final grenade, activating the timer and lobbing it out of the now ascending ship.

“Close the door, we’re blasting out of here!” Cora shouted from the cockpit. Jaal followed the ordered and slammed the door control panel with earnest. Once the door latched shut, he turned to give Cora the all-clear to punch them out of there.

The ship soared high above the surface, turbulence rattling the vessel and stray shots pinging onto the departing fuselage. The ride got rough, and when Scott tried to correct his posture he felt the heavy hand of Jaal on his back, pressing him down onto the floor. The silent and safe gesture sorely reminded Ryder of the wound on his leg, which burst in pain and caused the Pathfinder the bare his teeth in agony.

“Stay down,” Jaal said as serenely as he could through the intercom in Ryder’s helmet. “We will patch you up once we’re past the Scourge.”

Ryder nodded and lowered his chest down, relieving some of the pressure applied to his leg. The quick repressurization and reconstituting of the ship’s air led to a final confirmation from SAM that it was safe to remove their helmets. No one was quicker at this than Scott, who aggressively ripped off the high-tech piece of protection and threw it across the cabin. His first breaths of distinguishably fresher air felt wonderful, filling his tired and spasming lungs more so than his suit’s onboard filters and tank could have ever provided. Cora set her helmet down gently on the seat next to hers, never lifting a steady hand on the steering wheel in front of her. Jaal’s mask slipped off and hung without care from his neck, steam lingering on the inside from his warm breath.

The ship exited the world with grace and speed, the windows surrounding the cabin once showing the bright blue sky were now smeared with a dotted black. The golden Scourge swirled around the outside but quickly thinned out to reveal the healthy and dependable ink of deep space. The ship smoothed out in the nonexistent gravity and the sound hollowed out, with only the pings of onboard instruments and labored breaths from the Pathfinder echoing throughout the tight ship.

“I can take over, Miss Harper,” SAM said, initializing the autopilot.

“Thanks, SAM,” she acknowledged, stepping back and readying the first aid kit. Ryder felt Jaal’s large hands lift him by his armpits, positioning him so his back lay firmly against the wall and his stiff leg extended out front.

Ryder groaned loudly at the movement, but stifled and bit his tongue once his wounded leg shifted around to reveal the gravity of the damage. His right thigh looked bad. Real bad. His normally grey torso assembly was painted in bright red and dark brown, from the earlier amounts of blood soaking and setting into the carbon fiber weave. He blinked blankly and threw his head back, not wanting to linger too long on the sight. His eyes instead caught the final glimpses of Ryder-1 as they flew back towards the Tempest docked just outside the Scourge.

He appreciated the gesture when it was universally decided to name the planet Ryder-1, but he thought it was entirely premature. It was still Habitat 7 to him, and until he made perfectly sure that it was survivable, it would always be that. Which is why Scott made frequent trips to the still volatile and crumbling planet. The Scourge continued to float outside the atmosphere and would not be cleaned up for some time, but with clever charting and navigating, Ryder and his crew had mapped several entry points to the surface that a ship as large as an Ark could slip through. On the surface, things were persistently unstable, though a massive improvement from their very first exposure to the alien world. The activation of the first monolith by his father helped recover the air, which made it possible to safely breathe the still argon-nitrogen rich world for an several astonishing minutes. Mountains no longer floated when the second monolith had been reactivated, and the third ceased any electrical discharges that would have vaporized anyone caught underneath.

But it wasn’t enough. Not yet. Until he could find the vault and calibrate to repair the world for the races of Helius, Scott would not rest. He scoured long and hard looking for the entrance hidden throughout the canyons and valleys of the planet’s dangerous surface, and this trip seemed promising. A reanalysis of the monoliths with a new understanding of the world’s topography led SAM to pinpoint a more accurate possible location of the vault. Unfortunately for the ground team, the Kett had figured all that out as well. They were expecting them, knowing only the human Pathfinder had the means to open the entrance to the innards of the planet. Once Ryder, Cora, and Jaal stepped past the clearing leading to the hidden passageway, an entire platoon of Kett aimed their weaponry at the three explorers and opened fire.

Their shields emptied instantly and once gone, Ryder felt the unfamiliar and wholly unexpected sting of a bullet through his right leg. In about as quick as he was shot, the wind knocked out of Scott’s lungs and his entire stature collapsed as he hit the rocky ground. Jaal flew towards the Pathfinder and snatched his wrist, moving him behind a wall of stone while sparks from the Kett’s armaments rained down all around them. Cora gave the order to retreat, charging up her biotics to give the three an nail-biting escape back to the transport. It wasn’t exactly as planned but Ryder and certainly the other two were glad they could reach the ship before any of them were in any real trouble.

“Alright, hold still Ryder,” Cora returned, holding an intimidatingly large syringe filled with an unknown yellow liquid. “Can you explain this again, Lexi?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Scott protested, hands waving out in fear. “What’re you going to do with that?”

“We don’t know what kinds of microorganisms are on the surface of Ryder-1,” Lexi’s stern voice creaked through the ship’s speakers. “You’ve been shot and from Cora’s accounts, were in frequent contact with the ground.”

“We’re about five minutes away from the Tempest, and we need to clean you up and stop the bleeding until Lexi can work on you,” Cora explained, hovering over the frightened man. “Jaal, hold him steady?”

Jaal nodded and straddled Scott, pressing his knees onto the human’s arms and placing an ungloved hand on his cheek. “Let her give you this, Ryder,” he spoke.

“I’m just going to spray it on your leg—” Cora began, spinning the needle off and aiming it at Ryder’s leg.

“You’re not going to numb it first?!” Scott opposed, struggling under the weight of Jaal.

“There isn’t anything in the kit for the kind of pain relief you want,” Lexi said, the distant and tinny sounds of equipment being set up in the Tempest’s med bay.

“It’ll be over quick, Scott,” Cora said, an unsure shake in her voice.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Ryder mumbled, eyes pinching shut in anticipation of the cleanser. He felt the hand on his cheek stroke softly in small circles, pairing with the sharp sting of Cora’s fingers peeling off his suit’s outer shell and stripping Scott down to his briefs.

“Shh,” Jaal breathed, his low voice reaching Ryder’s ears loud and clear. “Shh.”

Ryder opened his anxious eyes for a brief to stare wildly at Jaal’s quiet ones. He watched the Angaran smile softly and assuredly down at him, watching his lips mouth another calming sound. He felt an unhitched breath soothe his lungs before Cora gave a final pinch and squirted the strong medicine onto his thigh. Ryder could have sworn he heard sizzling, like an incinerator aimed directly at his skin, destroying any offending microbe the universe could ever harbor the instant the foul liquid made contact. He gritted his teeth and thrashed around, finding relief nigh impossible with Jaal holding him down with his strong hands and legs.

“Ah!” Ryder shouted, head snapping up to look down at his officer as she finished applying the liquid. “Fuck me!”

“You big baby,” Cora smirked tensely, fanning her hand down at the excess spillage from Scott’s now sterile, but still blood drenched thigh.

“Harper, so help me God!” Scott bit back, teeth exposed like a dog entering a fight.

“Ryder, relax,” Jaal hummed, leaning in and increasing the pressure applied to the man’s arms.

“Alright, Lexi,” Cora shouted, throwing the empty syringe to the side. “What do we do next?”

“You need to stop the bleeding. Can you find a tourniquet in the kit somewhere?” Lexi asked.

“Ummm,” Cora trailed off, standing to retrieve the opened kit left on the bench.

“What is a tourniquet?” Jaal asked, his translator seemingly not finding a suitable render of the word.

“Something to wrap around his thigh, above the entrance wound,” Lexi explained, nervousness and agitation mixing in her voice.

Scott looked up at Cora who was now tossing things out of the medium-sized box, digging deeper inside in a ill-prepared manner best suited for desperate situations like this. His eyes rounded up to look at Jaal, finding the Angaran’s slitted blues staring intently at his leg. After a brief hesitation and skeptical shake of his head, the alien rose slightly and removed his trademark cloak in a single, swift motion.

“Where again, Lexi?” Jaal asked, his voice raised to reach wherever the intercom’s microphone was mounted.

“Above the bullet hole,” Lexi said. “Tightly.”

“Jaal—” Ryder started, only to be hushed by Jaal’s hand returning to his cheek.

“Stay still,” Jaal frowned this time, the uneasiness of the situation evidently setting into the alien.

“Be careful!” Lexi pressed firmly. “There’s an artery there and unless he’s nicked it, he’ll make it if you hurry.”

Jaal nodded to the instruction and began to work, lifting Ryder’s bloody leg with as much care as he could afford given the ticking clock Ryder was under. The Pathfinder groaned and labored his breathing while Jaal slipped his Rofjinn underneath the dripping limb.

“Jaal, your...” Ryder protested, but the lightheadedness crept up and made his sight go blurry.

“It is just a piece of fabric,” Jaal soothed, wrapping the cloak around the Pathfinder’s leg and pulling the corners together. “I have plenty of others.”

“But,” Ryder gulped and stared at the increasingly blinding lights raining down from the ceiling. “But.”

“Scott—” Ryder could hear Jaal say softly before tilting back and succumbing to his wound. The lights above him detonated into white as he felt the final tug of the Rofjinn around his thigh. Jaal’s soft hand returned to Ryder’s cheek, bloody and warm, before Scott completely keeled over.

He could make out feeling the shuttle shake and messily dock with the Tempest before his body went weightless, perhaps from the blood loss or his transfer to a stretcher. He heard various instruments beep and muffled voices shout, nothing ever sounding clear and all boiling into one melody. Blues and whites clouded his dazy vision, with peeks of a familiar purple dancing in and out of the scene. He couldn’t remember the name, or the face, but it reminded him of warmth. Of jungle breezes and soft music mixed with the gentle roar of a market. He saw something glow, like the bright flash of sun peering out of clouds, and then felt heat on his face, like a fire on a beach with the stinging flames fighting with the cool ocean waves. It relaxed him, eased him, knocked him for a loop. Scott felt he was slipping under something more completely, his AI saying something either to him or to whomever was leering over him. He remembered flashing a grin and a quick peace sign to no one. He remembered a promise, and then a chuckle directly next to his ear. Low and soft, again with the familiarity.

Then he woke.

Ryder blinked hesitantly, a stray hand moving up to rub his struggling-to-adjust eyes. He stretched and felt his bare skin rub his unnaturally soft sheets, Angaran crafted as specified and gifted by the Moshae. Both his arms cracked with the movement, and so did his left leg. His right, however, twinged. A small gasp and a quick glance under the covers brought Scott’s mind to the present, how he was shot through the leg and how his last memories until now consisted of blank colors and sounds.

He howled as he sat himself up, pivoting his damaged leg out from the sheets and into the moonlit room. He was in his quarters, on the Tempest. The blast shield-like blinds were partly drawn and the lights were dimmed just enough to make out a pathway to and from the bathroom. SAM’s console glowed a subtle blue, with peeks of other colors rotating in and out of existence as notifications from the neverending flow of messages directed to the Pathfinder poured in. The vents above roared quietly and misted the room with a gentle heat, enough to keep him comfortable but more than enough to force the heavy grey comforter off the man and onto the floor. Scott fluttered his tired eyes and carefully rubbed at his bandaged leg, a crisp strip of white encircling his naked thigh held together by two elastic clips. On the band was a crudely scribbled signature and date.

“Good evening, Ryder,” SAM’s voice arrived, breaking the quiet and scaring Scott.

“Jesus Christ!” Ryder yelped, his hand flying towards his chest. He caught his breath and turned towards the room’s SAM console, eyeing the impersonal screen. “Hey SAM.”

“I’m glad to see you awake. How are you feeling?” SAM said.

“Like shit,” Ryder sighed, cracking his neck and slapping his cheeks. “Is this right?”

“Is what right?”

“The date, on my leg,” Ryder gestured at the marking.

“That was when Dr. T’Perro last changed your dressing,” SAM explained. “Two days ago.”

“Two days?” Ryder grumbled. “That means…”

“You have been resting for a week, Scott,” SAM finished, with Ryder noting the precise use of ‘resting’ in place of flat-out unconscious.

“Damn,” Scott shook. “I’m guessing everything’s okay with me?”

“According to Dr. T’Perro’s charts, yes. They were successfully able to remove the bullet and save your torn artery,” SAM explained, turning on the viewscreen in front of the bed and bringing up the various scans and documents relating to Scott’s leg.

“Well that’s good news,” Scott chuckled, laying his foot on the ground and testing his bearing. Satisfied with the amount of weight he could press onto the still sore leg, he rose and stepped cautiously to the bathroom.

“Dr. T’Perro has given me a strict instructions that you walk with assistance until you are completely healed,” SAM echoed. A small hiss and unlatching of a closet door revealed a stainless steel cane, a sight Ryder immediately rolled his eyes at.

“A cane? Are you serious?” Ryder asked, turning away from the assistive device and limping to the bathroom.

“It’s for your benefit, Ryder,” SAM said. “I strongly advise you use it.”

“And I advise to you that I’m fine, SAM,” Ryder retorted, reaching the toilet and fishing himself out of his briefs. “Just a little stiff.”

“Then I shall write a note to Dr. T’Perro, documenting your refusal,” SAM poked, a slight hint of disparage in his artificial voice.

“Fine, SAM.” Scott sighed like a child, announcing his disapproval and reluctant acceptance while he emptied himself. He replaced himself back inside his underwear and felt the depressurization of the toilet through his bare feet. He twirled to the sink and mirror and looked at his disheveled appearance, fully expecting to see something unattractive but nothing like the ravaged state he actually was in. His lips were chapped, his tired eyes framed by dark circles as if the week’s worth of hibernation meant absolutely nothing, and a thin but substantial patchwork of hair covered his cheeks, chin, and neck. “SAM?”

“Yes, Pathfinder?” SAM whirled to life.

“Have anything for me for pain?” Scott winced, testing his right ankle and knee, stretching and rotating the joints around. He felt the creeks and cracks from under his skin, like small bubbles releasing from a regulator.

“Dr. T’Perro has allowed you some every four hours,” SAM beeped, opening a small container from the Pathfinder’s desk. Ryder sighed with delight and began his trek over, careful to grab and make use of the insulting cane still perched in its closet. He felt around the sturdy rubber grip wrapped around the stainless steel pipe, rolling it over to check his weight over the good leg. With a loud, final click from his pelvis, Scott felt an instant wave of relief from his still tender wound. Breathing a sigh, Scott grabbed the single plastic wrapped pill and hurriedly popped it into his mouth, not bothering to wash it down with anything. The chalky and frankly horrifyingly tasteless cube ricocheted down his throat and into his stomach, activating quickly enough to shock the off guard Pathfinder.

It was like a heat vanquishing in his thigh, a blanket of cold comfort and tingling numbness enveloping his entire leg and radiating to his chest. He felt calm, he felt slack. He felt like he was about to pass out. “Fuck me, those work quick,” Scott heaved, his heavy lungs struggling to fill with air.

“Give it time, Scott,” SAM said sternly, monitoring the wavering human through his many lenses. “Dr. T’Perro said these were the initial effects, but will soon pass in moments.”

Scott gave a few deep breaths through his flickering nostrils, each one bigger and deeper than the last. Finally the compression on his chest dissolved away, and his thigh felt pain-free. He looked down at the bandaged limb and gave it a twist, feeling a slightly unsettling nothing from the once pain-riddled area. He gave a grunt of acceptance and stepped to the front door, allowing the cold hunk of metal whirl to life in what Scott imagined was a couple of days.

The beast flung open and with it, pulled a strong blast of frigid air. The swirled vortex of absolute-zero hit the nearly naked Pathfinder like a truck, giving him goosebumps and rattling his bones. The lights were completely off, save for the sparse emergency bulbs, and the ship had an eerie lifelessness to it. No sound came from anywhere, with only a small ringing developing in Scott’s ears. It was like he was abandoned.

“Holy fuck,” Scott hissed, arms flying up to rub some friction onto his skin. “Where the hell is everyone?”

“They are on shore leave, Ryder,” SAM informed him, this time directly in his head.

“Shore leave? Where are we?” Scott asked, stepping forward into the cold, empty bowels of his ship.

“The Nexus, Ryder.”

“Oh,” Scott said with a gasp as the sole of his bare feet collided with the cold aluminum-glass lining the interior. He wished he had crutches, or perhaps a wheelchair, to alleviate the sensation by just raising both feet. Or, Scott thought, he could put on socks. “I’m guessing we’ve been here for the whole week I’ve been out?”

“Correct, Pathfinder.”

“Is there anyone on board, or is it just me?”

“Jaal is in his quarters, Pathfinder,” SAM said.

Ryder perked up, a small grin drawing on his lips. “Thank you, SAM.”

The hallway and elevator felt longer than normal, plainly due to Ryder’s inability to move at more than a snail’s pace. Scott had asked SAM to update him on the last seven days, and at least turn on the heater and flood the ship with some semblance of comfort. The AI began by informing that not only were the reserve fuel tanks close to empty, but because refueling had not been commissioned yet, his and Jaal’s room were the only two that could be powered. SAM explained that every crew member had been given orders to enjoy their extended time off and were provided with an indefinite setoff date. Many took those orders as an excuse to go explore the stars and jet off to the colonies throughout Helius, and some decided to stay on the Nexus until they were called back to the Tempest. Lexi made routine visits to care for the Pathfinder with dressing changes and much needed doses of painkillers, something the out of focus and hallucinatory human was unable to properly demand. Jaal, conversely, had stayed on the Tempest the entire time, secluded in his quarters and refusing to venture out save for the two times when picking up grocery orders.

“Why’s that, you think?” Scott asked as the elevator doors slid open.

“I did not think to ask,” SAM said.

With a heavy and audibly guttural frown, Scott pressed through the near-pitch black research room, marveling at how vacant it all seemed, especially when there wasn’t a floating hologram illuminating the space. He reached Jaal’s door and despite expecting a locked and unresponsive hatch, Ryder was greeted with a swift and loud whoosh. Like before, Scott was hit with another blast of air, this time scorching hot and relatively humid, reflective of the conditions on Aya. Scott gave a slight cough from the shift before stepping into the infinitely more suitable space and forcing the door closed behind him, trapping the cold and lifeless air out.

Scott looked around at the cluttered space, finding all sorts of dismembered weapons and tech scattering the walls and floor. A small but significant pile of laundry looked forced into the far corner, hidden away in darkness as to not remind the Angaran of the foreboding task. A string of light above blanketed the enclosure in a sea of orange, reflecting off the strips of chrome piping entangling the space. Soft music came from the far wall, a tune Ryder never heard before but could pin as indigenously Anagaran.

Behind the small, outstretched divider, Scott found Jaal half-alert, biting his lip and tending to a small row of plants with a gentle spray bottle. His eyes looked dark, darker than they normally would, as if he hadn’t slept in days. Beside his left were empty cans and paste tubes, some empty, some and leaking all over the tabletop. On his right was a lit stick of incense, a pleasant floral smell smoking slowly upward and throughout the cabin. Jaal was bent over at the waist tending to his hobby, his hips and feet thumping rhythmically to the foreign beat from the sound system, sparsely moving in his planted position. He wore a set of well fitted black sweatpants and a loose looking green crop top, and whether it was actually fitted to expose his well-formed midsection, or was simply a shirt he stole from someone much smaller than he, it was a complete mystery to Scott. He looked good, though. Tired, and completely oblivious to the entrance of the human. But good.

Scott cleared his throat, throwing his cane against the steel wrapped barrier softly, sending reverberating clanks across the room. Jaal nearly jumped at the sudden sound, clearly frightened and making the oddest of growls towards the human intruder. His purple head whipped around and, in an instant after making eye contact, shifted from dangerous to welcoming.

“Scott,” Jaal whispered, erecting upright and smiling weakly. Scott blushed at the Angaran’s use of his first name, something only SAM and his sister seemed to do. Peebee had a devious knack of using it when she wanted something terribly bad, like brand new tech or a vacation. He learned to brush it off with a stern but flexible laugh, yet the way his name rolled off Jaal’s tongue sent warm shivers down Scott’s back and legs.

“Hey,” Ryder hummed, suddenly feeling a wave of comfort similar to the wave caused by the pill earlier. He took a tentative step forward, carefully navigating the littered mess of a floor with his gimp leg. Jaal, on the other hand leapt forward and, without much care or precaution, wrapped his large arms around the shirtless human. The immediate grip and squeeze knocked all the air out of Scott as the entire weight of the Angaran man soaked into him. He felt his frame lift off the ground and his cane land on the inflated mattress hugging the wall with a bouncy thud. He felt Jaal’s warm and moist breath steam against his neck and an arm shift to cradle his bottom, a pleasant reminder of just how large the Angaran was compared to himself.

Scott laughed softly and patted his arms on the Jaal’s back, rubbing large circles on both the man’s clothed and naked back. Jaal returned the chuckle and after a final squeeze, lowered the man back to the ground. He stepped away and with both hands on the human’s shoulders, squeezed tightly and smiled down brightly. “It is so good to see you up and walking.”

“Up, yes,” Scott smiled, limping back and fetching his discarding cane. “Walking, not so much.”

“Oh!” Jaal exclaimed, throwing his head around the room quickly. “You shouldn’t have to stand—”

Scott smiled and watched Jaal spin in his place and struggle to think, “Please, Jaal. I really don’t mind standing.”

“No, no, no. I… the, um, chair I had broke, so...” Jaal laughed softly, turning quickly to clean up his desk. He carefully pushed his well-tended plants to the side and starting to clear the area of the seemingly endless amount of discarded and forgotten trash. He nervously cleaned the surface, spending little time organizing and more time frantically throwing whatever he could find into a bag. When suitably decluttered, Jaal pivoted and gestured to the flat surface, “Please, sit here.”

Scott eyed him curiously, never-before seeing the Angaran in such a disheveled state. Jaal’s breathing slowed a hair and his fused fingers jittered in either fear or excitement, something Scott smiled at. He stepped over and reached his free hand to grasp Jaal’s, calming the alien who took a moment to catch a breath.

“Jaal, relax,” Ryder said with a smile, hoisting himself up with a slow ease onto the steely cold surface. The backs of his thighs and small peeks of his glutes from the seam’s edge of his briefs burned against the icy surface, but through a few flinches and some slight maneuvering, Scott found the desk interestingly comfortable. Rudimentary and oddly nostalgic, like a child in a kitchen, he wiggled his suspended toes and watched the Angaran continue to clean his mess of a cabin.

Scott always felt guilty about having such pristine and first-class accommodations on the ship compared to literally everyone else. His quarters were gorgeous and a rather great reward for all the hard work he did, but there was a disparity between what he brought to Helius and the more than equitable contributions from his crew, and it always rubbed him the wrong way. Why should they be relegated to shared bunks and, in Jaal’s case, a tech lab with a blow-up mattress on the floor? The always polite Angaran never put up a fuss but surely for all the help, guidance, and highly appreciated support he gave to Scott he could at least have a room with a window.

Jaal seemed to finish his task and rather hastily tied the black trash bag containing assumedly a week’s worth of empty bottles, containers, and other litter. Jaal looked around curiously, inspecting the space for imperfections and missed items, before dashing to the door and leaving the bag right outside the room. “I will throw that out later, I promise,” he said with a huff, turning back to mosey more casually towards the seated human.

Scott chuckled and dismissed the statement, “Don’t worry about it, Jaal. We’re the only ones on the ship, there’s literally no one here that will mind a single bag of trash.”

“I mind,” Jaal said with a blush. “I haven’t been this… messy in years. Ever since I was a child.”

“I mean, it was kind of a shock to open the door and see your place like that,” Scott teased, crossing his arms across his bare chest.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Jaal paused, casting a glance down at Scott’s feet. “Or anyone coming in since we docked. I guess I lost track of time and forgot to... care? If that makes sense.”

Scott smiled a flung his good leg up, playfully kicking the alien square on the knee, “Don’t talk to me about losing track of time. I wake up not an hour ago and SAM tells me it’s been a week. Fuckin’ sucks blacking out like that, especially for that long.”

“Yeah,” Jaal muttered, taking a deep breath and crawling his dark eyes up to Scott, shooting him a soft smile. “It has been a very long week.”

“So what’s been going on? Catch me up,” Scott asked, leaning back and resting his head on the row of cabinets behind him.

“Where should I start?” Jaal asked, bending a leg up to scratch his other in absent thought. “What is the last thing you remember?”

“I remember someone carrying me into the med bay, and then just,” Scott recalled, closing his eyes and trying to remember his last conscious moments as if they were a dream the morning after a heavy night, or in his case week, of drinking. “Colors? Lots of colors. Blue and white and—”

Scott opened his eyes and looked at Jaal, leaning forward and listening intently with a curious smirk on his face. “Purple,” Ryder continued. “Then just a bunch of sounds, like yelling and shouting but then a soft kind of… hum?”

“A hum?” Jaal asked quietly.

“Yeah, something soft but—but loud,” Scott raised, tapping his ear rhythmically. “Right in here, as if that became the only thing I could hear.”

“And then what?”

“Then I woke up,” Scott laughed, kicking his legs out and cracking his neck. “A bit ago, or something.”

Jaal laughed to himself, “Well if that is all you remember, then I have much to tell you.”

“Do go on,” Ryder waved.

“So much happened that day, and every day since, it is kind of overwhelming,” Jaal said with a wink.

“Oh?” Scott pressed, suddenly shifting his tone and worrying about the time he’d lost while unconscious.

“I am joking,” Jaal laughed, this time more heartily, like his old self. “We brought you in, Lexi knocked you out and pulled the round out of your leg, and then Cora had us dock at the Nexus while you recovered.”

Scott eyed the alien with a half-amused stare, watching the other man display a range of investigative looks. “Seriously?” Scott deadpanned.

“Uh,” Jaal trailed. “Yes.”

“Is that it?” Scott pressed, a gleeful level of sarcastic irritation behind his question.

“Yes, Scott,” Jaal buckled. “What do you want me to say? There really isn’t much else!”

“Well you could’ve, I dunno,” Scott frowned, “spiced it up a bit. Make it sound harrowing or something. I survived a gunshot for fuck’s sake.”

“I will next time,” Jaal smiled widely. “And don’t flatter yourself, we’ve been shot at plenty of times. This is just the first to actually hit.”

“Yeah but still!” Scott grinned, flexing his weak muscles for the amused Angaran. “Gotta make it sound dangerous and exciting! Like we’re working hard and just barely surviving in this galaxy!”

“Trust me,” Jaal said, stepping towards the Pathfinder and slipping between the human’s legs. “I have been ‘barely surviving’ more since joining your outfit than I have in my entire career fighting for the Resistance.”

The suddenly up close and personal stance sent Scott’s mind spinning, instantly at the loss of words. Jaal’s arms moved gracefully beside him, reaching back and flinging through the cupboards behind the startled man. Jaal hummed a small tune while he worked, lifting on his toes for a better reach, and Scott’s eyes scattered all over the increasingly exposed midriff of the Angaran. His abdomen was large and tight, toned and strong from years of fighting the Kett. His naturally purple and pink flesh faded towards the center, blending into a crystalline white crater around his umbilicus. Scott’s fingers fidgeted behind him, balling into a fist as Jaal’s natural scent started to permeate between them, a delicate mixture of natural musk and artificial incense kissing his senses. He, Scott thought, smelled divine.

“Is that right?” Ryder asked with his eyes closed, inhaling deep and quiet.

“Yes, but,” Jaal whispered, focusing on his task a moment longer before snickering in his success. He slowly peeled away from the human, “I have this to thank for when ‘barely surviving’ became a little too... uncertain.”

Scott opened his eyes and instead of seeing his teammate in between his legs, perilously close, he found a large black bottle pressed nearly up to his nose. His eyes took a second to refocus and with a wickedly understanding grin, read the familiar silver label on the front: “Tavum.”

“Are you allowed to have a drink with your injury?” Jaal nodded with a laugh, biting onto the sealed urn and spitting out the cork.

“No,” SAM interjected strictly, cutting off the music from the workbench momentarily to voice a parental level of concern.

“I’ll live, SAM,” Ryder scoffed, reaching a hand out at the glass Jaal had poured out for him. A devilishly strong stench from the lip misted out of the glass and into the space, mixing horrendously with the already suitably beautiful smells Scott had been enjoying. He sipped at the drink and was instantly reminded why he rarely touched the stuff, biting his tongue in reaction to the bitter and rancidly impactful liquid. “Holy fuck!”

“Holy fuck is right!” Jaal said with a cheerful roar, tipping the bottle up and swigging down a healthy amount. He hissed and coughed as it went down but reacted in a distinctly more subdued manner than the Pathfinder. “Reminds me of home!”

“How can you do that? This crap is strong,” Scott choked, swirling his glass and lapping at it like a cat, afraid of downing an amount more than a few drops at a time.

“This is Angaran-made, I’m supposed to be able to drink it like water,” Jaal winked, stepping back and lowering himself to rest on angled hands surrounding the human. “Plus I may have… had an early start.”

“Oh, really?” Scott chuckled, already feeling the warmth of the alcohol slithering through his face. “Is that what all those cans were?”

“Vetra introduced me to beer,” Jaal mused. “A very interesting concoction.”

“Yeah, it’s an acquired taste,” Scott said with a grumble, raising his glass. “Much like this.”

“Much less flavorful than she had described, much unlike this,” Jaal said with a wink, taking a second sip from the bottle and setting it on the counter.

“So I have to ask,” Ryder started, sipping from his glass a little more, having warmed up to the still foul taste. “Why were there so many of them? If you hate it so—”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Jaal rose a finger. “I never said hate.”

“Oh, forgive me,” Scott rolled his eyes and laughed, scooting himself forward on the desk to barely hang off it.

“Vetra bought me a case two days ago, I thought it rude to let such a thoughtful gift go to waste,” Jaal said.

“A gift from Vetra?” Scott spoke in disbelief, finding it entirely implausible that the inarguably stingiest crewmember would offer something without asking for anything in return. He snickered at the thought and continued, “What for?”

“Saving you,” Jaal said quietly, cutting the energy in the room down with the swift two-word answer.

Scott’s eyes went wide, having been unceremoniously reminded of the reason why they were even back on the Nexus, why he was bandaged up, and missing a week of consciousness. He stared at the Angaran man, finding him interlocking and releasing his fingers methodically as if struggling to find more words to say. Ryder’s free hand subconsciously rubbed his hip, just above the dressing on his thigh in slow a tensile motion. Each depression and squeeze sent minor shocks through the muscle, storming back and forth the still healing portion of flesh. He felt guilty, now realizing that this episode wasn’t just like the others, as they had both joked about earlier. This time Scott nearly lost, and if it weren’t for Jaal carrying him back, or Cora rocketing them off the eponymous planet, or even whatever Lexi did with him in the med bay while he was under, he knew he wouldn’t be having alien cocktails with the Angaran right then.

“About that,” Scott said after a spell, slowly lifting his glass in quiet acknowledgment. “Thank you.”

Jaal smiled timidly and rubbed his neck folds, “It was nothing.”

“It was everything. You thought quick. Cora and Lexi too. All of you saved my life, and I can’t let something like that go without my sincere gratitude.”

“I couldn’t let my boss die on his own planet,” Jaal shot with a tipsy smirk, righting his frame and cracking his unsteady feet.

“I hope you don’t see me as just your boss, Jaal,” Scott shot back sternly, rolling his eyes and downing a progressively larger gulp of his drink.

“Of course not, Ryder,” Jaal said, stepping around the midroom barrier to rummage through a desk. Scott could hear the displacement of items and banging of fingers, intermixed with small huffs and chuckles from the Angaran. “I like to think of us as more than that. I suppose there has to be a reason why I’m always the first selected when going down for a mission.”

“What can I say?” Scott asked, leaning forward to peer over to the man. “You’re the best.”

“I am, aren’t I?” Jaal said with a smile, attention still drawn to the chest of drawers. Suddenly with a delighted sigh, he found what he was looking for: a clear box, no bigger than an inch, with a mangled piece of metal rolling around inside. Jaal tiptoed back over to Scott and placed himself again squarely in front of the Pathfinder, whose eyes began to focus on the small container.

“What is that?” Scott asked, tilting around to fixate on the small piece of tarnished silver rattling around the plastic box.

“Your bullet,” Jaal said plainly. “Well, the Kett’s bullet, that the doctor pulled out from your thigh.”

“Wow,” Scott said in amazement, grabbing the box and staring at the tiny offender that nearly ended him. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Lexi wanted to throw it away, but I thought you would have loved to have it,” Jaal grinned, bending down to fetch his bottle and knock back a mouthful. “As a reminder.”

“Reminder of what?” Scott asked, shaking the box and listening to the clang. “Remind me of how lucky I am to have such a good doc on board?”

“If you want to think of it like that, then yes,” Jaal said with a glowing laugh.

Scott sighed and brought the box back up, marveling at the bullet. He’d seen plenty of them in various states of being, whether they were freshly shaped and fitted into a clip or ricocheting off concrete pillars and flattening on impact. Most bounced off his shields or he was simply lucky enough to not be in their path, but this was was special. It and Scott had an attachment now, unlike the undoubtedly millions of other rounds he’d handled, carried, or fired. This was his bullet, and if he were to be truly lucky, it’d be his only bullet.

“It’s interesting,” Jaal spoke, bringing Scott’s attention back to the Angaran right in front. Jaal halted his dialogue, and Scott watched his eyes scan the floor as if again struggling to find his next words. “I’ve read up on human anatomy, but... I never really considered how delicate your species really are.”

“Delicate?” Scott laughed weakly. “Should I take offense?”

“No, I mean—” Jaal scoffed mildly, shifting his stance to reflect a more defensive gesture. “I mean that something so small like that,” he pointed to the box with a thoughtful pause. “Just a matter of millimeters would have been a different situation.”

“Well yeah, it nicked my artery right? But didn’t shred right through it?” Scott asked, hand rubbing his dressing.

“Yes,” Jaal said, his own hand reaching over to rest on Scott’s bandaged thigh, gently brushing along the cotton surface. “I just never knew how reliant your body is on the… structural integrity of your arteries.”

“Well, yeah, duh,” Scott smiled, wincing a touch when Jaal’s hand pressed a little too hard on the surface. “Do Angarans not have arteries? I don’t remember seeing that in the tomes Evfra gave me that I forgot to read.”

“We do,” Jaal spoke again, stepping forward to press his front against the edge of the desk, eyes lingering on Scott’s chest. “I’m not trying to be literal. I am trying to say is… in my time spent with you, Scott, I… for some stupid reason, thought that humans, with your unpredictability and passion and strength, you were…” Jaal froze.

“We’re what?” Scott asked quietly, just enough for his voice to beat the music.

“Invincible,” Jaal said, a weak smile forming on his lips and his blue irises drawing up to look through Scott’s. “Impervious and—and... impregnable.”

Jaal drew a hand to Scott’s cheek.

“Untouchable,” the Angaran breathed just before leaning forward and planting his lips on the human’s. It was hushed and soft, trepidatious and bold. It was single, lingering between the two with no movement, no driven press for more than the sole kiss, not even a breath. The fading music gave the cabin complete silence before transitioning into the next track, an upbeat blast of sound. The two awoke and pulled apart, Scott leaning back a touch and Jaal taking a full hop back. The Angaran’s eyes were wide, and his cheeks were as rosy as they could get under the dim lighting. Jaal’s breath returned with a gasp followed by a labored mix of skeptical laughs and rocking grunts.

“Jaal—” Ryder began, his tongue licking against his coated lips.

“I am sorry, Ryder,” Jaal said weakly, not even able to make eye contact with the man he just kissed.

“Jaal, it’s fine,” Scott said as he reached out and grabbed the Angaran’s large hand. He squeezed it tight, enough to bring the alien’s attention to the human. “Drunken accent?”

Jaal smiled and paused, mulling over the foreign idiom. It took a moment, but he let out a small laugh as a measure of understanding, “Yeah, drunken accent.”

The two men remained in silence for another spell, swaying to the lingering music and watching the small particles of dust float around the space. Scott squeezed again and Jaal squeezed back, rubbing his thumb along the human’s scarred knuckles. “You know, I’ve wanted that for a long time,” Scott whispered delicately.

Jaal looked down and closed his eyes, releasing Scott’s hand to rest on the man’s knees. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Scott said, throwing his arms up and around Jaal’s neck and laxly securing his fingers together.

“Me too,” Jaal said, raising his head up and grinning. “How long?”

“Since I first saw you,” Scott replied instantly.

“On Aya? With a firing squad around you, aimed and ready to shoot?”

“It was an unorthodox, but unique way to introduce yourself,” Scott laughed. “I’m a sucker for that kind of crap.”

“You weren’t scared?” Jaal asked.

“Shitless,” Scott hummed back. “But I’m glad we met and you agreed to join my little outfit.”

“Likewise,” Jaal said, squeezing Ryder’s naked hips. “And speaking of little outfits…”

“Oh!” Ryder said with a hiccup, eye’s flashing white and hands racing down to cover himself as he just then realized he was practically nude. The painkillers and eventual Tavum must’ve lessened his sense of modesty because Scott would have never in a million years thought to come see one of his crew members in plain, black briefs. “Shit, I completely forgot—”

Jaal roared with laughter, chest heaving and shoulders jostling up and down. His purple and pink hands squeezed Scott’s hips hard, sending a bolt of electricity to the human’s dressing leading him to cry out. Jaal opened his eyes and rubbed the forgotten-about wound gingerly, stroking the tensing and spasming muscle with care. “It’s okay, Scott. I don’t mind,” Jaal cooed.

“Oh I’m sure you, ah!” Scoot hissed, riding the cascading wave of fire down his leg. Jaal eased his grip and slipped his other hand around the human’s exposed back, resting against the coccyx and spreading his fingers. Scott huffed at the touch and leaned into it, arching his poise and knocking his head back. The fleeting traces of heat dissipated around his leg, and Scott let out a content sigh, “Of course you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Jaal chuckled. “You look very good, Scott. Banged up leg and all.”

“Thanks,” Scott smirked, finding comfort as the last spasms and tension released from his limb. He pryed his eyes open and found his half-full glass, scooping it up and throwing it all back an praying for it to work quickly. The pain from the drink couldn’t compare to the pain in his thigh, and after a couple of devastating coughs, he licked his lips and let the intoxicant leak down his throat and into his veins. “You look mighty good yourself.”

“You think?” Jaal laughed, stepping back and stretching his arms above to give the Pathfinder a better view of his chosen attire.

“Yeah, man,” Scott whistled. “Green looks good on you.”

“You don’t think it’s too small?” Jaal asked, turning around to give the human a three-sixty show.

“It’s definitely too small,” Scott leered, the Tavum working quicker than usual at numbing his inhibitions. “But fuck, you’re hot.”

“I’m flattered,” Jaal said as he threw a hand to Scott’s shoulder, pushing him back in jest. “I borrowed it from Cora since the rest of mine are,” he continued, turning back to the pile of laundry by the door, “filthy.”

“Yeah buddy, you seriously need to do a load,” Scott said behind a suppressed snicker. “Or four.”

“Four seems right,” Jaal smiled. “Like I said before, I lost track of time since we docked and I guess I just never got around to washing anything.”

“Anything?” Scott buckled, letting a tipsy laugh out of his lips. “Well no shit, that pile looks like it has everything you own, Jaal.”

“Not entirely everything,” Jaal mumbled, stepping back behind the divider to dig some more in the cabinets. Scott rolled his eyes as he watched the other work, swifter than before at finding what he was looking for.

Then Jaal froze in place, shoulders tensing up and his breathing suddenly quiet. He let out a jet of air, thin as a pinpoint towards the ground, and nabbed what he found. Jaal returned to the Pathfinder and held up his Rofjinn. He looked defeated, fingers loose and the dull looking fabric draping without grace towards the floor. It looked beaten and lifeless, the once sparkling blue piece of symbolism now tattered with streaks of brown. Blood, Scott thought. His blood. The row of lights above worked hard to set off some of the still glittering threads buried underneath Scott’s stains, but even in the dark room Scott could see how devoid it looked. Scott reached his hands out and Jaal tossed the precious cloak like a rag, stepping back to the human and grabbing the still nearly full bottle of drink.

“Jaal, this is—”

“I know,” Jaal said with a testy swig and overly loud cough. “I spent days trying to get the stains out. I might as well throw it away.”

“You can’t throw it away,” Scott said with hushed curiosity, studying the limp fabric in the light. The silk-like material felt dated and worn, either from the many years of use or from the one blood-soaked event. Scott fingers tugged at the cloak, releasing some microscopic scabs left over from the repeated washings Jaal claimed to have done. “Doesn’t this have meaning in your culture?”

“Great meaning,” Jaal grumbled with his arms tangled across his chest. “This one was my father’s. Gifted to me by my mother when I was large enough to wear it.”

“He didn’t want to give it to you himself?” Ryder asked.

“He couldn’t,” Jaal said, the conjunction heavy with implication.

“Oh,” Scott said, eyeing the Angaran with a seated frown. “I’m sorry.”

“Every parent or caretaker makes one for each child… individualized perfectly, and hands them down to whomever when they become an adult. I have one from each of mine, as do my many siblings,” Jaal said, stepping forward and handling the Tavum without care. “I have plenty, like I said.”

“But this was your dad’s,” Scott drew out slowly, folding the Rofjinn carefully as if burying it with an invisible casket. “He designed the pattern?”

“Yes.”

“And I ruined it.”

“Stop,” Jaal breathed, pressing his front against the metal desk and brushing Scott’s dressing. He took a deep sigh and peered up into Scott’s eyes, wet with remorse. “I wasn’t thinking when I used it around your leg. I needed to stop your bleeding and it was all I could think of. Kind of ironic, no? Using something I tie to a death, to preserve a life.”

“In a certain way, I think it’s bittersweet,” Scott slowed, hand resting on top of the Angaran’s. “Now it has a new meaning.”

“It does indeed,” Jaal smiled, leaning in close to kiss the human’s stubbly cheek. “I guess I can keep it, but I still can no longer wear it. Not in this condition.”

“Well, no,” Scott said, further inspecting the tattered cloth. “Not like this, but we can try cleaning it.”

“I’ve already tried, Scott,” Jaal shook his head, nabbing the Rofjinn back and scrunching it in his large hand. “Multiple times.”

“Not the human way, you haven’t.”

“And what is the ‘human way’?”

“Have you tried lemon juice and seltzer?” Scott asked plainly, brow crooked and a playful smile on his face.

“What are,” Jaal spoke, pondering each subsequent word carefully, “lemon and seltzer?”

“Lemon I can understand, but you’re stuck on seltzer water?” Scott pressed, shifting in his seat and watching the large alien take a confused step back. “You know, club soda?”

“Club soda?” Jaal sounded each syllable. “Like, carbonated water?”

“Literally, exactly that,” Scott chuckled, bending his knees up to lock his legs straight out in front. “Come on, come with me to the galley. And bring your Rofjinn.”

Jaal nodded slowly and helped Scott stand, paying close mind to his wounded leg with guiding hands. Scott thanked the man and grabbed his cane after a quiet reminder from SAM, a voice hidden in the room but like an ever-present third wheel, eternally so. It unnerved the Pathfinder knowing the AI heard, saw, and possibly felt everything Ryder did, especially the kiss. Jaal walked slowly behind Scott, a gentle hand steering the human back into the cold void of the Tempest and towards the elevator.

Scott attempted to explain to Jaal what a lemon was, to no real success, and then eventually what citrus was as a whole, to slightly more success. The sour and sweet characteristics of the fruit were relayed with ease, but the concepts of using the fruit juice for anything other than consumption alluded the Helius-native. Jaal could cook, his extensive family an indication of just how delicious Havaralian cooking could be, but years of reliance on paste and rations undeniably diminished his understanding of how useful simple juice and water could be.

Scott described that when he and his sister were younger, they would get plenty of their clothes absolutely filthy while stationed on a ship barrelling around the Milky Way headed nowhere. With the limited resources on board, their mother would use lemon and seltzer to clean essentially any stain; a practice utilized regularly within the Ryder family, much to the matriarch’s annoyance. It was something he’d always known to do, having been scolded enough times by his mother that she reached a enough of a tipping point to forcefully teach the twins to clean their own messes.

“Just mix the two and either soak it, which is what I’m thinking, or dab it,” Scott elaborated in the elevator.

“And this works?” Jaal asked.

“Eh,” Scott smiled, “not all the time. Depends on the kind of material, how big the stain is, et cetera.”

“Will it work for this?”

“I don’t know,” Scott said honestly, fingering the Rofjinn clamped tightly in Jaal’s protective hands. “But if you were about to throw it away, this is worth a shot, right?”

Jaal smiled and nodded, clenching the cloak tighter in his palm. “Right.”

The two reached the galley and Scott all but ordered the Angaran to scour the refrigerator for a tiny little bottle of lemon juice the human knew was buried deep inside. A now impossible-to-obtain ingredient outside the Milky Way, Ryder remarked that he was grateful that he had as much of a sway in the Initiative that allowed him to grab a priceless bottle of the citrus extract. He had pleaded with Tann and Kesh to fork over the tart liquid, something both the Ryder twins would also douse on every dish of food when growing up on Earth. Luckily for the Pathfinder, Kesh stood down and allowed him to pull the bottle from cryo-storage, as his one and only physical gift for his exploits in Helius, aside from his own-named planet. Kill the threat to you and your ally’s entire people, and you get whatever priceless heirloom you want from the Milky Way without much hassle. Not a bad trade off, Ryder grinned to himself.

Scott meanwhile filled a pitcher of water and handled it under a small spout connected to a chrome tank fastened to the side of the refrigerator, freshly aerating the liquid. The machine rattled and roared, boding fear in the two fully-grown men, but once the small basin was misting over and onto the Pathfinder’s hand, they returned to the captain’s quarters. The heater had remained on after Scott left, kissing the two men with a gentle breeze of pleasurable heat. The air felt thick compared to the rest of the empty vessel, yet less dense than the near sauna-like conditions inside Jaal’s room. It was a welcomed change of environment, and considering that even in his significantly dressed down state, Scott had been beginning to get a little too warm. Whether it was the alcohol wreaking havoc on his liver or the simulated Aya-experience in Jaal’s room, Scott was hot. He briefly wondered if Jaal would mind that he were completely nude, save for the non-removable dressing bound tightly around his aching leg. The thought, however, went as quickly as it came when he felt the soft hand of the Angaran squeeze his shoulder.

Scott pointed to the desk and handed Jaal the pitcher before hobbling to the bed and parking his rear on the soft mattress. He watched the alien carefully and provided adequate instruction from across the room, figuring that even a trained varren could pour two liquids into one container. Jaal cautiously mixed the two ingredients in the basin, swirling the pitcher around and around until Scott was satisfied. Jaal then wadded up his Rofjinn and drunkenly whispered a small prayer, a thank-you to his father and his culture. Scott couldn’t make out the words at the distance, but he fell silent regardless, even looking away as to allow Jaal and his allegorical cloak some privacy. Once the mutters dissipated, Jaal flexed his back, took a deep breath, and sunk the Rofjinn into the mixture. He squeezed it like a sponge, rubbing anxiously at the fabric and pushing it deep into the basin.

“Just let it soak and see what happens,” Scott yawned, stretching his arms out and scratching the back of his head.

“Right,” Jaal mumbled to himself, taking a step back and facing the Pathfinder. “How are you feeling?”

“Feeling?” Scott tilted his head, eyes lingering over the Angaran’s beautiful frame. “I’m feeling better. Tavum’s kicking my ass, though.”

“Oh?” Jaal asked with a smile, meandering over to sit next to the human on the bed. “In what way?”

“Making me tired,” Scott yawned again. “More than it usually does.”

“It is mixing with the medicine you had earlier, Pathfinder,” SAM interjected again, this time from the console across the room. “Interactions with alcohol are—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Scott growled, “I get it, I shouldn’t have had a drink.”

“You should listen to SAM,” Jaal laughed, falling back onto the bed and interlocking his hands behind his head. “Not my insistence.”

“But your insistence is much,” Scott said, mimicking the maneuver and laying next to the muscular Angaran, “much more convincing.”

“I thought you were above that, Scott,” Jaal said in a low whisper, eyes closed and relaxed. “Don’t give into peer pressuring.”

“Pssh, I’ll do what I want,” Scott said, turning over on his left to face Jaal. “I’m the fucking Pathfinder.”

“You are,” Jaal said barely above a whisper, turning to face the human. He lifted a hand to run across the human’s skin, gently squeezing each inch and tickling the tiny hairs littering the surface.

Scott smiled and let his eyes drift shut, allowing the remaining lights from his room to expand and warp into wet stars of comfort. He gave a couple deep breaths, each slower than the last, matching the rhythmic strokes of Jaal’s large hand. It felt softer than it should, even after realizing the Angaran spent his entire leisure time disassembling and reassembling the crew’s weapons. It was a compulsion, devoted to the obsession that claimed many tiring hours of his time, and still his fingers came out soft. Bloody, greased, and calloused, but soft. And they felt absolutely wonderful on Ryder’s skin, like a velvety warmth only matched by the continued whirl of the vents above the two.

“Hey,” Scott mumbled, half asleep.

“Hey,” Jaal replied.

“Can you do it again?” Scott scooted up and drawing closer to the Angaran.

“Do what?” the other replied, wrapping an arm around Scott’s naked torso.

“What you did to me on the shuttle?”

“Of course,” Jaal whispered. He brought himself up to Scott’s cheek and cupped it, pressing his palm along the human’s jaw and igniting his hand. Tangles of bioluminescence flickered from his skin, glowing down his shoulder to his hand and onto Scott’s face. It began to generated a heat between the two, sending sparks of life to the stubbled surface. His lips then pursed together and he began to shush lowly, establishing a calming rhythm of soothing tones that reached Scott’s tired ears.

He lost time, hidden behind his lidded eyes. Scott fell into darkness, similar to when he passed out. It was like dying, although there wasn’t a light at the end of the tunnel, but more of a gentle breeze. He was back on that beach, the sun warming his goosebumped skin and humid breath of intimacy and hospitality. Scott sighed, cracking his toes underneath the sand and blinking towards the fading pink sky, not a cloud in sight but the sun falling below the horizon. He peeked open and was back in his bed, finding Jaal’s mysterious eyes looking right at him, a wishful curve to his brow followed by a slow, affectionate grin.

“Why’d you kiss me?” Scott asked suddenly with a drunken roll of the tongue.

“I was worried.”

“About?”

“Never seeing you again.”

“I’ll always be here.”

“Until the next bullet.”

“Until the next bullet,” Scott giggled, shifting in his spot. He sighed and leaned into Jaal’s heated touch, allowing the sparks from his bioelectric tips tickle his jaw and neck. “Thanks,” was Scott’s last word before completely fading away, inhaling a deep mix of Jaal’s scent with his own and letting that be the last sensation his body would remember until morning.

 

——

 

He woke, groggy as if the life had been sucked right out of him, and hungover as if every drop of water evaporated from his body. He groaned and stretched, instantly meeting with a large twinge of pain from his leg. His hand reached down and rubbed the area, glad to feel the dressing had remained intact throughout the night. His mind began to reboot, clicking into place and spinning back online with the remaining four of his five senses reviving one by one. His eyes slowly peeled open, blinking up at the still dark, still industrial ceiling of his quarters. His ears then turned on, and he heard soft white noise playing on an infinite loop: waves crashing. Jaal must’ve turned it on.

Jaal.

Ryder shot up in bed, completely neglecting the still throbbing agony in his leg as he searched around for the purple and pink man he could’ve sworn went to bed with last night. He hands launched to the spot next to him to only find a crumpled up section of blanket and an unfilled pillow. He frowned and wondered if he had dreamed it all, knowing that Tavum still had such a profound and unjust effect on the unacclimated man. His attention went back to his leg, peeling back the blanket and finding the same dressing with the same fading scribbling. It read the same date, and after a thoughtful moment, Ryder correctly assumed it was just the next day. Or maybe just a couple of hours later, or even minutes.

With a growl and a snap of his neck, Scott cringed when the ever-present voice in his head came to life. “Good morning, Pathfinder,” SAM said in a natural tone that boomeranged around the human’s hollow head.

“Volume, SAM,” Scott hissed.

“My apologies,” SAM responded, significantly quieter. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Like shit,” Scott mumbled under his breath, rubbing his eyes and turning around to try and peer out the completely shuttered window.

“Similar answer as yesterday. Would you like medicine for your pain?”

“Yes, SAM,” Scott said, earning the sound of the drawer flashing open from across the room. He grabbed his cane and hobbled over, letting his achy knees work around enough to settle on a comfortable range of motion. “What time is it?”

“It is oh-nine-hundred, Scott.”

“Huh,” Scott said, popping the pill out of its packaging and swallowing it dry. He felt the quick depression in his chest, similar to the day before, and gripped the lip of the desk in preparation for the rest of the effects. “Couldn’t tell with all the windows closed.”

“Jaal suggested that I keep the windows shut, in case you the sun shone through and woke you earlier than desired.”

“Jaal did?” Scott asked, barely above a whisper. He rode out the final moments of the medicine’s initial kick and then flicked his eyes around to look directly at SAM’s console, “He was here?”

“Yes,” SAM informed. “He left after you had fallen asleep last night.”

Scott just nodded and took a deep breath in, slightly perturbed that Jaal felt the need to leave last night. Scott wondered momentarily the reason behind leaving was, or even why bother coming into his quarters in the first place. He remembered hanging out in his cabin and shooting the breeze. He remembered the kiss. And he remembered… nothing. It was just a blank, seabreeze of nothingness that when recollected felt oddly relaxing. His eyes wandered around the desk and he spotted the basin, empty and flipped to dry, with a small note pinned to the side.

Scott reached down and nipped at the paper, unfolding the small note and reading out loud: “Thank you.” His eyes widened and he made a lurch towards the door, facing the barrier and frowning when the large slab of metal purposely remained shut. “What the hell?”

“I suggest a different attire, Pathfinder,” SAM instructed, automatically flinging open a closet door to Scott’s right. Ryder looked down and found that he was still glad in only black briefs and his tightly bound bandage. With a roll of his eyes and sigh, he grabbed a shirt and very slack pants and rushed to get them on.

Suitably dressed now, a small beep from SAM’s console signaled the door to slide back into the wall, allowing a bright wave of light and noise to bombard the dehydrated and aching man. Through squinted eyes, Scott began to make out individual forms walking about his ship. Dark silhouettes gave way to describible faces and glances at the fully aroused human standing in his doorway. Several people all looked to smile and wave, then proceed back to their duties on board the vessel. Scott’s breath hitched when he stepped out into the Tempest, finding the once cold and vacant fuselage now warm and filled with life.

“Lookin’ good, Ryder!” Scott heard from above, turning over and spotting a proudly grinning Cora peering over the railing. “How the hell are you?”

“I’m,” Scott breathed, still adjusting to the sudden amount of activity he was seeing. “Uh…”

“That bullet get your head too?” Cora laughed, sliding down the ladder with practiced ease and slapping a hand on the Pathfinder’s unsteady shoulder.

“What’s all happening?” Scott asked, pointing to the flood of people carrying crates and hauling dollies.

“We heard you were back on your feet and got the order to head back to the Tempest,” Cora explained, squeezing the confused and weak man as rough as she normally would. “I like vacations as much as the next gal, but I’ve been dying to get back out there and get some work done.”

“Uh,” Scott flinched at the newly formed pain in his shoulder, partly grateful it was now overshadowing the anguish in his leg. “Huh.”

“So, how’s everything?” Cora chirped up, voice boisterous enough to break through the commotion around them. “How’s the leg?”

Scott looked down at it and tried to visualize the bandage through his sweats. “It’s… fine.”

“Just,” Cora said with a long pause, eyes analyzing him squarely. “Fine?”

“I mean,” Scott mumbled out, hand scratching behind his neck in clear displeasure of the sudden line of questioning. “It hurts but I just had some, uh…”

“You okay, Ryder?” Cora asked, flipping a hand up to feel the man’s forehead. “You don’t look too good.”

Scott shook his head and knocked her hand loose, whipping it around to stare down the long hall towards the aft of the ship. All he saw were a small sea of people interweaving the long corridor with a choreographed fluidity akin to ballet. A solid mass of uniformed blues and greys, some faces familiar and others completely foreign to him. The last he could remember was the complete barrenness of his ship, the comforting solitude of only him and Jaal. Now suddenly, his craft was beaming with more life than normal, from people who were just there to load the boat and leave. It was jarring, especially for someone with a splitting Tavum migraine about to pierce through his tired skull. All he knew was that he wanted to leave. He wanted to leave Cora and everyone stomping around and go see Jaal. He wanted to ask him what happened, and what was going to happen. To them.

“You sure you’re alright?” Scott heard Cora ask again.

“Yes, Cora, I’m,” Scott began with a sternness bubbling in his throat. He began to turn towards his officer when, like the Red Sea of old, the mass of people parted and Scott caught a glimpse of purple in his periphery. His voice ceased and his eyes focused on that glimpse, expanding it to find Jaal laughing with Peebee over by the research room. The distractingly bright light of the swirling hologram beside Jaal highlighted the equally bright fuscia of his face, and importantly, the pristine looking Rofjinn draped across the man’s shoulders. The silver speckles of silk bounced with renewed vigor and recognizing the intricate design wrapping all around the delicate cloak, Scott could tell it was Jaal’s father’s.

Scott watched Jaal look up and down the hall, lazily at first, but the moment his eyes made contact with Ryder’s, he froze in his position. The two shared a beat of stillness, their breaths syncing from way across the distance, forcing time to temporarily stand still until Jaal broke the moment with a warm, loving smile and wave to the human.

Scott saluted back and let the infectious smile spread to his own lips. He hitched his cane up and with his first step, without a look at Cora, whispered, “I’m fine.”


End file.
